They were always gravity

Neck, that creature’s discomfort
Beckons a hunch; shoulders sag
Forward the floor, minutes lag
Past lunch. Eaten

Are the rest of beings so beaten shapeless?
Covered cape-less fiction, lived-in
Costumes exoskeleton
A soft interior, shelled like melons

-are you seedless, will I need to spit?
The worries of a spineless twit. I am
That twit I am that twit, I am
Worries, and they were always gravity.